The morning sunlight streamed through the towering windows of the Crystal estate, illuminating dust particles that drifted lazily in the air. The house was as grand as ever—ornate chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, polished marble floors gleaming under the soft glow of the sun—but to Cherry Crystal, it felt hollow, like a beautifully decorated tomb.
She walked slowly through the hallway, her fingers skimming along the smooth wooden banister of the grand staircase, pausing momentarily at the spot where she had often stood as a child, waiting for her father to leave for work. He had always been in a rush, barely sparing her a glance before disappearing behind the heavy front doors.
Even now, years later, the memory left an ache in her chest.
Cherry had grown up in this house, yet it had never truly felt like home. There were no echoes of laughter in the halls, no warmth in the grand sitting rooms. Instead, there was an ever-present silence, one that stretched between her and her father like an invisible wall. The emptiness had been there since she was a child, lingering like a shadow over everything.
And on days like today, that silence became suffocating.
Her fingers curled against the railing, her nails pressing into her palm. No matter how many years passed, the ache of losing her mother remained. The weight of it settled heavily on her shoulders, more pronounced than ever as she took on her new role as CEO of Crystal Enterprises. Her father had built an empire, yet there were cracks in its foundation—cracks that had nothing to do with business, but with the broken love that had shaped their family's story.
She made her way toward the sitting room, where a large, gilded-framed painting of her father hung above the fireplace. Ethan Crystal, the self-made billionaire, the man who had built everything from the ground up, yet had somehow lost everything that truly mattered. His sharp blue eyes stared down at her, emotionless, powerful, and unreadable.
Cherry exhaled sharply and turned away.
Her gaze fell upon a single framed photograph on the mantel—a rare picture of her mother. Anaya was holding a young Cherry in her arms, her dark brown eyes soft and full of love, a gentle smile playing on her lips. Ethan stood beside them, his expression neutral, almost detached.
Cherry swallowed the lump rising in her throat.
Her mother had loved Ethan deeply, she knew that much. But had he ever truly loved her back?
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
She frowned, glancing at the clock. No visitors were expected today.
Moving toward the grand entrance, she pulled open the heavy wooden doors, her heart constricting slightly when she saw the man standing on the doorstep.
Her uncle.
Anaya's younger brother.
Dressed in a dark coat, his expression was unreadable, though Cherry could see the familiar hint of bitterness in his deep-set eyes. His visits were rare, and when they happened, they were brief. He never stayed long, never stepped inside.
"Uncle," she greeted, surprised.
He nodded once, handing her a bouquet of white lilies—the only flowers Anaya had ever loved.
"For Anaya," he said simply.
Cherry took the bouquet, her fingers tightening around the stems.
"You could come inside," she offered, though she already knew what his answer would be.
Her uncle's gaze flickered past her, toward the grand interior of the house. His lips pressed into a thin line.
"No need," he said. His voice was cool, distant. "I just came to pay my respects."
Cherry watched as his hands clenched slightly at his sides. There was something unreadable in his expression—something that spoke of years of anger and resentment, something that made her wonder, not for the first time, what had really happened between him and Ethan.
She hesitated. "Why do you never stay?"
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
"You already know why."
Her breath caught. Did she? Or had she only assumed the truth all these years?
Her uncle looked at her for a long moment, then let out a quiet sigh, as if too exhausted to hold onto his bitterness.
"You look more like her every year," he murmured, his voice softer now. "She would have been proud of you."
Cherry felt a lump form in her throat. "Thank you."
With a small nod, her uncle turned and walked past her, heading toward the cemetery at the edge of the estate. The same place he visited every year, always alone.
She didn't follow. She knew he preferred to grieve in silence.
Once he was out of sight, Cherry let out a slow breath, gripping the bouquet tightly.
She glanced back inside, her eyes trailing over the familiar surroundings—the crystal chandeliers, the expensive paintings, the perfectly curated decor. Yet none of it felt real. None of it held memories of love or joy.
Her mother's presence had been wiped from this house.
There were barely any photographs of Anaya, barely any remnants of her life here. The only real trace of her was the cherry blossom tree outside—the one she had loved, the one she had chosen as her final resting place.
Cherry turned on her heel and walked through the hallway, each step filled with an unshakable sense of unease.
Her mother had lived in this house. She had loved in this house.
So why did it feel as if she had been erased from it?
She passed by Ethan's study, the door slightly ajar. Inside, she could see the neatly arranged shelves, the meticulously maintained space that spoke of her father's control over everything. But nowhere—nowhere—was there a single trace of Anaya.
Her heart pounded.
Something wasn't right.
She turned toward the one place she had never fully explored—the storage room.
A place where forgotten things were kept.
A place where the past had been buried.
She hadn't stepped inside in years. As a child, she had been warned to stay out of it, told it was nothing more than a room filled with old furniture and unused belongings. But now, an unsettling curiosity gnawed at her.
If there were answers about her mother… perhaps they were hidden there.
Without a second thought, she walked down the hall, her pulse quickening as she reached the door. The handle was cold beneath her fingers.
She turned it.
The door creaked open.
Dust filled the air, illuminated by a sliver of golden sunlight streaming through a small window. The room was packed with old trunks, forgotten furniture, and boxes stacked haphazardly against the walls. A heavy scent of aged wood and time surrounded her.
Cherry stepped inside, her heart thudding as she took in the forgotten relics of a past she had never been allowed to see.
And then—her eyes fell on a wooden chest, half-buried beneath an old blanket.
A chest she recognized.
Her mother's.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She took a slow step forward, reaching out with trembling fingers. Dust covered the surface, but beneath it, she could make out the faint carvings along the edges—delicate flowers intertwined with vines.
Her heart pounded.
With shaky hands, she brushed off the dust and tried to open it, only to find it locked.
A shiver ran down her spine.
What was inside?
And why had it been hidden away for so long?
Something told her the answers she had been searching for were inside that chest.
And she was going to find a way to open it.